She Left Her Cheating Ex, Then Married His Biggest RivalChapter 1
The day I went to try on wedding dresses, I used Barret Henson's phone to order milk tea. The default delivery address that popped up was for an upscale apartment complex I'd never seen before.
It was the address of his college first love, who had just returned to the country.
His order history was filled with meals he'd sent her—breakfast, lunch, dinner—and late-night stomach medicine.
She'd been back for a hundred days. He'd ordered delivery for her on ninety-nine of them.
Meanwhile, when my gastritis flared up so badly I was shaking from the pain, all he ever told me was to drink more warm water.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror—white wedding gown, picture-perfect bride—and slowly pulled down the zipper.
"The dress doesn't fit," I said calmly. "The wedding's off."
"Maggie Sullivan, it's just ordering food for a friend. Are you seriously making a big deal out of this?"
Barret deleted the address from his phone, his expression cold.
"There. It's gone. Happy now? Are you done throwing a fit?"
I slipped the diamond ring off my finger and set it on the table. "I'm done. I wish you two a lifetime of happiness."
——
I pushed open the door of the bridal shop and walked out.
Barret chased after me and grabbed my wrist.
He pressed a credit card into my hand.
"Go buy that handbag you've been eyeing."
"Isn't that what women always say? A new bag cures everything? There—feel better now?"
His voice dripped with exasperation, like he was dealing with a child mid-tantrum.
He was certain this was just me throwing a fit, trying to force him to coax me back.
I shook his hand off.
And tossed the card straight into the trash.
Barret's face darkened.
"Maggie, enough!" he snapped. "There's a limit to how far you can push this!"
"Queenie just got back from overseas. She doesn't know how anything works here yet."
"So I ordered her a few meals—so what?"
"Back in college, I used to get her food from the dining hall every single day. You already knew that!"
A sharp sting pierced through my chest.
He was right. All four years of college, he'd brought Queenie Fox her meals every single day.
Even in a blizzard, he'd trudge through the snow with her favorite sweet-and-sour ribs tucked inside his coat, all the way to the girls' dormitory.
And me?
I'd cooked for Barret for four years.